Amaryllis’s period of confinement came to an end after six days. 

A sharp knock on her door startled her. Thankfully making her lose concentration on her spell. The light, which now rivaled a lantern, had faded by the time the steward walked in. Amaryllis rose from her desk where she had laid out a partially embroidered handkerchief as a decoy. 

She didn’t know why she bothered. The steward barely spared it, or her, a glance.

“His grace is ready for you.”

The steward, who was only a few years younger than her father, came from a long line that had served the Lavalhams for generations. Most of the leading staff positions in the castle were held by his family and his distant relatives served the vassals throughout the duchy. He had taken over his position from his father when her father had inherited his title.

The man was blindly loyal to her father. They had grown up together. The steward had never been anywhere but at her father’s side. 

Their long history meant he was exceptionally good at predicting what her father’s moods and desires. He also knew better than anyone just how much of a disappointment Amaryllis was in her father’s eyes.

Duke Lavalham’s satisfaction with his first wife had waned after she failed to give him an heir within the first few years of their marriage. What good was a beautiful wife with unquestionable lineage if she couldn’t give him a child to continue his own line? 

Their union had secured the border lands so he couldn’t divorce her despite his frustrations. Stomyr wouldn’t hesitate to reclaim the territory through politics or war should they separate. He needed another solution to keep his plans on track.

So, the duke spent a small fortune on herbalists, mages, and clerics. Their sole purpose was to keep his wife healthy through her pregnancies. After ten years, two still births, and several miscarriages, Amaryllis had been born. 

The duke’s frustrations, which were already at their peak, quickly turned to resentment when his first child turned out to be a girl. Not only was she unable to inherit, she had been born early and no one expected her to survive.

But survive she did. 

Amaryllis spent the next sixteen years bearing the brunt of her father’s frustrations. A small part of her knew that he wasn’t being fair. She had not asked to be born. She hadn’t asked to be born a girl. 

And she certainly didn’t deserve discipline that oscillated in severity depending on her father's mood.

She found it hard not to notice her failings when her father and others were so quick to point them out to her. The words her father spoke, although harsh, always had a ring of truth. Had she been the daughter of another noble, a lesser noble, she would have been good enough.

However, Amaryllis was the daughter of a duke and from an old imperial line. She couldn’t be good enough. She had to be better, worthy of her standing. Otherwise, she would bring shame to her family. 

She was the fourth highest ranking woman in the kingdom. Only the queen and princesses were above her. She needed to be superior. No one would respect her if those of lower standing were better. Having average intelligence and looks with no proper talents, not ones she could share at least, meant failure.

Thankfully the twins had been blessed with everything she lacked. They were both already showing signs that they would grow to be stunning. 

Romello was bold and charismatic, with a good head for numbers and an excellent memory. 

Veronica was shrewd and quick witted. She had a natural elegance that shone through with every word and movement.

Amaryllis sometimes felt envious of their inherent charms although she was far too ashamed to admit that. They both adored her and she them. She felt as if she were betraying their love by thinking like that. She would never wish that they had fewer blessings. Just . . . just that she had a few more. Even one more.

Sometimes Amaryllis thought that her father hiding her away was a sort of blessing. At least she was saved from embarrassing herself at court where her failings would be glaringly obvious. The mix of scornful and pitying looks from the servants she passed on the way to her father’s office were hard enough. She didn’t want to know how rotten she would feel if those looks came from strangers.

The sound of knuckles rapping on wood jarred her from her thoughts. They were already at the door to her father’s office. She could hear the murmur of voices from inside, but no call came for them to enter. They were left to stand in the hallway. 

Amaryllis fought the urge to fidget, knowing that the steward would inform her father that she couldn’t even handle the simple task of silently waiting. He’d done it before.

The wait stretched on and on. Long enough for cold sweat to trickle down her back as her nerves set in. Was her father particularly busy? Or was he just trying to make her nervous? She couldn’t recall any visitors that day. A few of the usual vassals were around, but no one in particular that she needed to mind.

There was a chance that some bit of news had come that had delayed him. Messenger birds were constantly coming and going from the dovecote in the northern watchtower.  So many that she struggled to identify days that were busy or not. Between invitations, reports from around the duchy, letters from informants, and merchant orders there was no end to the fluttering wings coming and going to the castle.

The skirmishes at the border were in full swing, but they were largely at a stalemate last she had heard. Perhaps something had happened to the Tempest knights? But no, that wouldn’t delay her father. He wouldn’t bother sending a response to organize his own forces to support them. A few sentences to the king asking for more of the royal knights would be the most effort he’d expend.

Amaryllis swallowed nervously. She straightened, realizing that she had started to hunch in on herself while her worried thoughts took over. The steward raised an eyebrow at her. That delicate arch somehow held more derision than an open smirk. She turned away, unable to face him.

Finally, the door opened and several of her father’s aides walked out.

“Amaryllis.”

Her father’s tone was neutral and calm. A potentially good sign, but he was good at holding in his temper when he wanted to. She hurried inside, trying to balance speed with her attempt at graceful steps. She was not Veronica, but she could at least avoid stumbling over her skirts. Anything to avoid adding to his current frustration with her.

Her father’s office always felt oppressive. The windows behind his desk looked out to the side courtyard with a large marble fountain that was always flowing no matter the season. The sunlight made every artisan piece of furniture shine. The desk, chairs, and side tables were all well-oiled and meticulously dusted. The deep bookshelves to the right and left walls loomed over her. They were filled with delicate statues made by different master smiths and embedded with jewels that shone brilliantly in the sunlight. The glare, depending on the sun’s position, could be blinding.

The two chairs that usually rested on the ornate rug before the desk had been moved against the back wall, leaving the center of the office clear of furniture. The ornate rug had been covered by a simple maroon one. The duke was behind his desk, quill in hand as he finished working on a letter. She stepped onto the center of the rug and curtsied.

“You sent for me, Father.”

She kept her eyes down in a show of deference. Just how many hours had she spent staring down at the rug, desperate to know if her father looked angry or bored, but too scared to look up? She knew every snag and stain. Far better than she knew the intricate pattern of the rug underneath it.

“I’m told you’ve been obedient during your confinement so I will overlook Romello’s visit.”

Amaryllis winced. The maids must have reported him. She should have told him she’d summon the maids herself. Romy had never gotten a strict punishment, but she hated the idea of her carelessness potentially hurting him. He practically worshipped their father. She would hate to ruin that for him.

She would have to do better next time.

“Thank you, Father. My apologies.”

“Be sure your clumsiness does not wear off on him. I will be taking him and Veronica to court this summer. You are not to distract them from the preparations.

“Yes, Father.”

He didn’t respond. She heard his quill scratch away, and then the scattering of sand. A few more items shuffled around on the desk, but she struggled to guess what they were. There wasn’t the rustle of parchment or the clink of ink bottles moving. It hadn’t sounded particularly heavy, but it had sounded a bit like metal. Maybe a small gift from a vassal? 

She didn’t lift her gaze, knowing from past experience no good would come of it. She was to be meek and timid. Anything else would only upset her father further.

The sound of the desk chair being pushed back came next, freeing her from her curiosity. Her father walked with soft steps to stand behind her. Amaryllis tensed reflexively as she waited for his orders.

“Lift your skirts above the knee.”

Amaryllis’s shoulders slumped in relief. He must be in a relatively good mood. Or at least distracted by something more important. She’d had worse punishments for smaller transgressions. 

She bunched her skirts in her hands, grasping the sides so as to more easily expose her calves. He found it annoying when the fabric got in the way and would restart his count if he thought she was trying to block him.

“That statue you broke was of Emperor Euclid.”

Pain across the back of her calves made her gasp and stagger forward. She didn’t know when he’d picked up the switch. He must have had it behind the desk or discretely leaning against a wall. 

After two hits her calves already felt like they were on fire and tears were freely pouring down her face. The stinging sensation lingered and grew as each hit added to the pain of the each earlier mark.

“He isn’t a very well-known emperor because he was rather boring, but that doesn’t change the fact that that piece was irreplaceable. Only a handful of busts exist from that century. I spent enough coin on that to manage a baron’s estate for two years. Two years!”

He delivered two sharp strikes at an angle over the previous ones to emphasize his point. Amaryllis whimpered in response. His strikes became rhythmic as he continued his lecture.

“You are lucky I am not taking that sum out of your dowry. I hate how I have to make up for your failings with coin. It’s absolutely vulgar, but there’s nothing else to be done. You’ve shown time and again how incapable you are. Honestly, reading while walking? What a foolish thing to do.”

“Veronica’s debut will help your prospects as well, but she can only do so much. You best be sure to assist her with her appointments. If I hear one word about jealousy going around among the merchants or dressmakers then you will be back here. Have I made myself clear?”

The blows paused and silence fell around the room. Amaryllis struggled past the sobs that choked her throat. He wanted an answer. He didn’t care that she was hurting. She was supposed to. She had cost him dearly with her mistakes. She deserved this. He couldn’t’ afford her causing more trouble right before the twins’ debut.

“Yes, Father.”

The words were strangled as the knot in her throat made speaking difficult, but it was enough. She heard him toss the switch to the ground and stalk back to his desk.

“The cleric will meet you in your room to heal you. Don’t you dare make a fuss on the way back. Your confinement ends tomorrow. I will have your nursemaid alerted to your siblings’ schedules.”

Amaryllis curtsied again, dropping her skirts. The soft fabric felt ragged against the inflamed skin on the back of her legs. Each step added a dull ache to her pain as her calf muscles flexed. She wiped her face free of tears before stepping into the hall and closing the office door behind her.

Most she passed would have some idea of what had happened based on her red eyes and slow walk, but no one would dare speak a word of it. This walk of shame was also a part of her punishment. 

She longed to hide in the comfort of her shadows. To hide from the looks of pity and indifference. She hated both, and kept her head down to avoid them during her walk back to the annex.

She could only hope the cleric would already be in her room to ease her pain when she got there.